


Sleep Well

by Evelyn6



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post episode: s06e03, Rumbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evelyn6/pseuds/Evelyn6
Summary: "Sleep weel, ma bairnie, sleep/The lang, lang shadows creep/The fairies play on the munelicht brae/An' the stars are on the deep."  What happened after Belle listened to the poem Rumple recorded for her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, this is based on theories that I have regarding some spoilers I've seen for the upcoming episodes, the premise of which is basically that Belle is being "threatened" by someone - or a group of someones - and that that has influenced some her out-of-character behavior this past season. If anyone wishes to discuss, you are welcome to comment (so if you don't want to know, best to avoid reading anything in the comment section). The story can stand on it's own, though, I believe. Would love to hear what you think.
> 
> Oh, and I wrote this in a quick session at Starbucks, so forgive me if there are any mistakes.

 

Belle had felt her breath catch at the first sound of Rumple's voice coming through the cassette player and she had yet to release it since. He was reading a poem for their son, his familiar brogue curving and dancing over the words in that way that always made her heart flutter, and she couldn't deny that the gesture had gone straight to her battered heart.

_This is for our child_ , he had said, his voice so hopeful and full of love. _A little verse I like_.

It was a sweet little lullaby, she had to admit; one she could picture him reading to Bae. Perhaps it was that thought that made it so hard to hear it, to cradle her stomach in her palms and know that they had created a life together and yet were still so far from being the happy family she dreamed of.

She loved him with all her heart. She always would. And she knew that Rumple loved her in return. Love wasn't the problem. 

The problem was that there were outside forces that were determined to see them fail.

Belle sighed, trying to turn her thoughts away from the darkness and focus, instead, on the sound of her husband's voice filling the small cabin. No matter what they had been through - and were going through - his voice would never fail to warm her from the inside out, to comfort her, to make her feel loved, even when she didn't deserve it. It did so now, and she was able to curve her mouth in a small smile as he talked of stars and moonlit hillsides.

The picture he painted drew her to her feet, and she crossed to the small window to look out at the moon where it shone above the docks, silver streaks rippling over the water.

She didn't know how she knew... Did their connection really run so deep that she could tell he was nearby, even when she couldn't see him? Was her heart so utterly his that it beat just a little harder when he was close? 

Perhaps it was her loneliness crying for him and drawing him to her.

She could envision him walking along the docks, his jacket blowing in the Maine wind. His hair would be blowing in his face as it was wont to do, and she wondered if it would be presumptuous of her, all things considered, to remind him to get a haircut. She had been cutting it herself since they found each other in Storybrooke. She'd always loved the feel of his hair between her fingers and even more so the way he would almost purr when she would run her nails over his scalp. The memory of those days seemed so far away, now.

How she longed to run her fingers through those silver strands again, to nuzzle against the warmth of his neck and simply breathe him in, to let the familiar spice and musk envelop her the way his arms always did when she was close. How she wished that things could be _simple_ again - no gauntlet held over her head, tearing her from the man she loved with every breath that passed through her lungs. She needed him. Terribly.

Maybe that was why she suddenly found herself climbing the stairs outside her room, desperate to reach the deck and the fresh air and _him_.

Her conscience was screaming at her, telling her to turn back. They wouldn't approve of this, and she would suffer more for her lapse, but the reminder did nothing to slow the tap of her bare feet along the cold, wooden floor. It did nothing to slow the ragged thumping of her heart as it beat against her ribs and urged her faster, faster, _faster._

_This is selfish, Belle,_ her mind whispered. And she knew it to be true.

She had done nothing but waver since that day at the well when she had looked into her husband's hopeful eyes and broken his heart - and hers. She was tired of pushing him away. She was tired of trying to come up with excuses as to why they couldn't be together when all she wanted, from the depths of her soul, was to wrap herself in his arms and never let go. She was just _tired_.

So she ran. She ran up the stairs and over the deck and down the railing until her feet touched the steady ground of the docks. 

It wasn't hard to find him. She would recognize the outline of his figure anywhere, and the sight of it now, swaying gently as he made his way past the Jolly Roger, was the most painful salvation she'd ever seen.

"Rumple," she called into the wind, unable to close the rest of the distance between them. Not alone.

After everything she had done - all that bloody wavering - he should, by all rights, want nothing to do with her. A part of her knew, deep down, that he couldn't let her go any easier than she could him, but it still had to be his choice. This wasn't what they needed, after all. They needed to _talk_. She needed to tell him the truth. But right now, all she could give him (and herself) was tonight, and whatever comfort they could manage to find before the sun dawned and she had to go back to the dark.

She saw his shoulders stiffen and he froze mid-stride, lifting his head. For a moment - a terrifying moment - she thought he might continue walking. She only realized when he started to turn that she had been holding her breath, and she finally let it go at the sight of his face in the moonlight.

"B-Belle," he whispered, a breathless and hopeful and anguished sound all at once.

_Say something._

"I- I got your tape," she said, taking a couple steps toward him. He was still rooted to the spot a few feet in front of her, looking at her like he thought she might disappear at any moment. She wasn't sure she wouldn't.

"Oh," he breathed. "Good. Good thing."

She realized she was holding her stomach again, and chewed her bottom lip for a moment before saying, "I think he liked it."

Perhaps it was a bit premature to assume he could, but it seemed to be the right thing to say. All at once, Rumple's shoulders slumped and he made a small, choked sound, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as if he were afraid they might reach for her.

"It was one of Bae's favorites," he said quietly.

She nodded. "I figured as much. Thank you. For sharing it with us."

Somehow, she heard the words he wanted to say even though his lips never moved. _It's all you'll let me share_.

She sighed, reminded herself to be brave, and closed the last of the distance between them. He didn't flinch from her when she reached for him; in fact, he leaned into her touch as if he was as desperate for it as she was. She rested her hands against his chest, tracing the lapels of his jacket up to his collar before slipping her fingers into his hair where it brushed - it really was too long - against his shoulders.

With a hum of relief, she pressed her forehead to his cheek, and he nudged back at her with a muffled whimper, his hands finally coming around her to fist in the loose fabric of her dress. The Maine air was biting at her bare toes and the breeze was whipping at her legs, but she felt nothing but warmth as they stood there by the water, ships creaking in the distance.

"Belle?" he whispered into her hair, his uncertainty almost palpable. _I don't know what you want_.

She did. Gods help her, she did.

"Take me home. Just for tonight, take me home," she told him.

He didn't hesitate for a single second before his magic wrapped around them, transporting them to the large Victorian on the edge of town. He didn't hesitate when she led them up to their room, nor when she curled up beside him in their bed. He enveloped her in his arms as easily as he took his next breath, burying his face in her curls while she held tightly to his hand where it rested gently over her stomach.

They couldn't keep doing this, she knew. Soon, she would have to choose. She would either have to tell him and put them both - and their son - at risk, or she would have to leave him. Either way she chose, there was hurt. There were words that needed to be said and reparations that needed to be made. But for now, she could give them this and hope it would be enough. And the way they held each other, neither of them speaking, both somehow feeling loved and content with this moment - whatever it was - gave her hope.

No, she couldn't fix it all, but she could fix  _now._  Whatever tomorrow held, she could give them now.


End file.
